Death of the Mother
by Playful Light
Summary: After the death of Hawke's mother in her arms, I felt there needed to be more. F!Hawke/Merrill relationship. Right now a one shot.


The flames in the main fireplace had long ago burned down to embers, leaving the large hall cold and dim in the late autumn evening. Merrill shivered in the blanket Bohdan had draped around her shoulders, but she refused to stir from her vigil by the hearth. Hawke should be home soon, or at least, Merrill prayed to the creators that she would be.

Hawke had burst into Merrill's alienage hovel several hours before, desperately looking about, frantically seeking out only the creators-knew-what. Merrill had thought at first that Hawke was looking for her, that she was angry with the elf for once again returning to the eluvian. She guiltily braced herself for the inevitable argument that had been the staple of their relationship for the past 3 years when Hawke surprised her with a sudden barked question of her own mother's whereabouts. Merrill had denied seeing the elder Lady Hawke for a day or two. Hawke was then gone in 4 quick steps. She didn't even bother to shut the door.

Merrill had quickly locked up her small workspace and ran as fast as she could toward Hightown, ignoring the squawks and glares most people gave to a running elf in this city. She was even able to find the Hawke/Amell estate with-for her-a minimum of dead ends and wrong turns. Not even a fraction of the hesitation she usually had presented itself as she wrenched open the door to the estate that she and Hawke lived in.

Merrill sprint through the house, looking for Hawke or anyone who could give her a clue to what was going on. Brutus, Hawke's mabari, lay guiltily on the large bed in their sleeping chamber, though he clambered to follow her once he saw and smelled her fear. The elf and mabari continued running through the house until they almost literally ran into the nervous, twitching form of Bohdan, who filled Merrill in on what little he knew of Hawke's mother's disappearance. Merrill had listened in horrified silence, and then with little knowledge of anything else she could do, she began her vigil on the front door to wait for both Hawke's return.

The wait itself had been long, though it had been made longer by the worry. What if Hawke was hurt? What if she needed Merrill's magic in whatever situation she was in? These thoughts and more plagued the elf during her forced inactivity, her only comfort the mabari waiting by her side. Brutus had taken a liking to the small Dalish elf quiet early in Merrill and Hawke's relationship and Merrill had found it so easy to return such feelings. The hound was smarter than some people she knew and had an adorable sense of humor, though she could use less of his smell and hogging of the bed. She was especially gratefully for his company now, though.

Her hand had moved to stroke Brutus' head for the tenth time that hour when she heard a faint thump on the front door. Merrill's hand stilled as the mabari sat up and perked his ears. Someone was at the door.

Merrill almost threw all caution and common sense to the wind by rushing to the door and flinging it open in the hope that it was Hawke, but she stopped herself just as she reached the door. A dagger appeared in her palm from within her armor and a spell was on the tip of her tongue as she took a deep breath and cracked open the door.

The entranceway candles illuminated a sight she was not prepared to see. Hawke stood in the doorway, her red hair carelessly pulled back in a dirty mop of a mess and her eyes glistening with tears. In her arms lay what Merrill would have to guess was a person, a person with her mother's face.

She swung the door open and stepped back, covering her mouth with her hands.

"No. No, oh Hawke!"

Hawke walked past her without a word.

Merrill silently followed the young warrior into the kitchen, where she reverently laid what was left of her mother onto the large dining table. Hawke folded the body's hands on top of its mid drift and then heavily sat at the table bench. Merrill drew breath to ask what had happened, but she thought better of it as she watched Brutus nudge Hawke's hand. Hawke would speak when she wished to, she always did.

The few minutes that went by felt like an eternity to the elf, but finally Hawke spoke.

"I found her in Lowtown, in the tunnels. Some bloody bastard took her cause she looked like his dead wife."

A shuddering breath wracked through her.

"I was too late. Only magic was keeping her alive by the time I showed up. I killed the man that did this to her. It killed her too."

Merrill stepped closer to watch Hawke gently brush her fingers across the neck of her mother's corpse, recognizing a stitch pattern. It made her wonder at what exactly had been done to the poor woman. Merrill had always liked the gentle, kind old matron, even if she was a bit perplexed by her daughter's love for a Dalish woman. They had been from two different worlds, but it did not stop the Lady Hawke and one of the People from becoming an amusing sort of friends.

Hawke suddenly stood.

"I need to get her ready for the funeral. Amell tradition demands she is cremated on the first dawn after her death." She tiredly wiped at her face.

"No."

The words coming out of Merrill's mouth surprised herself as much as it did Hawke.

"Merrill, what?"

The Dalish elf gave Hawke her best stern tone, slightly undermined by the quaver in her voice. "You can't prepare your own mother for burial after…after all that happened." She turned her face away from the haunted face of her lover just so she could continue. "As the Keeper's first, I've-I've prepared many dead for their journey. Let me-let me take care of her."

Silence greeted her ears for so long that Merrill felt compelled to look up. The human woman was just staring at her, a calculating look in her eye that told Merrill that she was considering her proposal. Merrill felt the need to straighten her shoulders and steel her gaze, hoping beyond hope Hawke would trust her with this.

After a few tense moments, Hawke seemed to relent, her shoulders slumped in a posture of defeat.

"Alright Merrill, you're right, I'll-thank you. Could you?"

Hawke abruptly walked from the room in the middle of her question. After only a few moments, she returned, carrying a bundle of what Merrill thought she recognized as Leandra's favorite dress.

"Could you dress her in this? I won't let her be cremated in that…that abomination of a garment." She gestured in a disgusted way at the wedding dress her mother's body currently wore.

Merrill took the bundle from her gently. "Of course Hawke."

Hawke nodded. She stood there, in front of her elven lover, in the presence of her recently murdered mother and just looked…lost.

Merrill felt her heart break watching her love flounder, apparently not knowing what to do next. She laid her hand gently on the woman's shoulder. "Hawke, please. Go rest. I'll fetch you if-if I need anything."

Hawke nodded and-with one last look at the lifeless form on the table-she slumped out of the room.

Merrill sighed. This was going to be a long night.


End file.
